Breaking
by LiteralBlue
Summary: Rufus Shinra, weakened by Geostigma, is beginning to lose hope. PreAdvent Children, postgame


Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII, Rufus Shinra, Tseng, Midgar, Geostigma, Healin Lodge or a Cait Sith beanie baby. I get by.

Thin beams of sunlight escaping through the blinds dance for a second on messy golden hair. The room is plain and old, the furnishings grey. The bed was hard, the sheets thin and old, patched in places. A lone insect makes its way across the stone floor, keeping to the walls. And, in the middle of this cold, bare room, the boy who should have inherited the world lays dying, alone.

Well, not quite alone.

The door creaks open. Soft footsteps sounded on a worn but clean floor, the same as always. Rufus Shinra half opens one eye to see a tall man in a dark suit coming towards him, tray in hand, looking more like a doctor that an assassin. Kneeling by the low bed, Tseng of the Turks leans over and brushes a few stray strands of hair away from the shining green eyes, frowning as he feels the icy coldness of the President's forehead. Some black liquid has soaked through the bandages around one eye. They would have to be changed.

Tseng does not bother to speak as he busies himself with the bandages. He stares into those beautiful eyes that are so determinedly watching the ceiling, barely noticing what his hands are doing.

Finished, he takes a small glass of water and presses it to the President's lips. Only then does Rufus responds, turning away his head and flinching slightly as a thin stream of the cool liquid runs down his chin.

"Sir?" Tseng speaks, his smooth voice slightly altered by worry. "Sir, you have to drink. If you deny yourself energy, you will never recover." A brief silence followed his words before Rufus parted his cracked lips and spoke. When he did, his voice was weak and rasping, his breath strained.

"Why bother?" he asked, with the air of one who has simply given up.

"Sir?" Tseng, in his former job, had never needed people skills. Now he was beginning to wish he had.

"You heard me. Why? Why do you spend all your time trying to help a broken down wreck like me? There are others who need my medicines. There are people who could survive out there, and yet you are here, trying to save a spent force like me."

"You are not a spent force, sir. I have never thought that of you. And I do not doubt for even a moment that you will fail to survive Geostigma."

"Tseng, look at me. I can't walk. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can barely see. Why should I bother even trying to survive? I'm not stupid, Tseng. I know I'm dying."

If looks could kill, all of SOLDIER could kiss their jobs goodbye, for all Midgar would need would be Tseng, and the expression on his face as he stared at Rufus.

"If that's what you think, sir," said Tseng, a slight layer of ice coating his words, "Then you may as well give up now. The only reason this disease is taking you over is that it finds no resistance! You survived when the WEAPON blew up your tower because you were utterly determined to live. And now, you've let that go. I would have expected better of you, sir. Giving up like this is childish. You can fight, but you won't, because you've resigned yourself to a fate that does not have to be. Is this the man the world wants as its President?"

Rufus realized how close to home he had hit Tseng with his words. When the man had been dragged back to Healin Lodge after Sephiroth, no one had expected him to survive. And yet, somehow he had awoken from his coma, only to see the state of his boss. The man, who had served Shinra since he had been recruited in his teens, deserved better than this.

"The world does not need me as its President. The world does not need me at all."

"But _we_ do." Tseng spoke softly. A long silence followed his words, as Rufus thought about the unconditional loyalty of the man by his side, the man who would stay by his side no matter what. He _was_ needed, by this man if nothing else. After a long, long moment, he spoke again.

"I'm thirsty." Tseng gave a rare smile, and again pressed the glass to Rufus' lips, this time meeting no resistance. After a long drink, the President's rasping breath slowed, and took on a deeper and more even quality. Tseng knelt by the bed for a little while, and then leaned over the sleeping form, tucking up the sheets and straightening the clean bandages. He smiled affectionately at the boy he had protected all his life. Tseng was the nearest thing to a father Rufus had ever had.

More out of habit than anything else, Tseng brushed another strawberry blonde lock out of the President's face. Then, carefully, so as not to wake the boy, he leaned forwards and kissed Rufus's forehead. Oh, how he longed to be the father figure Rufus never had.

He got up to leave, and paused at the door. Rufus was a fighter. He would pull through.


End file.
